Bran Kendrick never expected to fall in love. He’s asexual, after all. What chance does he have of finding someone who’ll see past that? So when Malachi Warren catches his eye, Bran tells himself his crush will pass. Malachi disagrees. He has been attracted to Bran for some time, something he is delighted to find Bran reciprocating. They begin to date and feel their way through an intimate relationship that meets both their needs.
Suddenly Bran finds himself juggling a new boyfriend, a demanding job, and a college degree he’s not sure he wants, but he couldn’t be happier—until a series of seemingly random accidents befall Malachi. When they escalate, Bran realizes someone is trying to take away the best thing that ever happened to him, and he must scramble to keep Malachi safe while they search for the would-be killer.
This book was so good! I loved how the story portrayed asexuality, and someone that identifies as “ace”, in a positive light. I agree wit the note in the beginning that there needs to be more stories that shows someone that is asexual isn’t a freak or weird. Bran and Malachi were so wonderful together. They built a relationship even while worrying about someone out to get Malachi. I so didn’t expect who the bad guy was. I figured out the reason why pretty quickly, but not who and how it was related. I really enjoyed seeing how they got over the hurdles after the bad guy was caught. Such a wonderful happy ending. The side characters wee so much fun and really brought color to the story. I’d love to see some of them get their own story. Maybe catch up on Bran and Malachi as well and see them again. I even want to see the bad guy from this book get a story to show he can be redeemed because I do think he can. Can’t wait to read more by this author in the future.
Four and a half
Molly: What music, if any do you listen to when you write?
Michaela: It depends on the story I’m writing. Different novels call for different music. I bounce between Taylor Swift, Muse, and A Fine Frenzy as my go-to fallback music, though.
Molly: Are you a full time writer, or part time writer?
Michaela: I am a full-time writer, in that I have no other job (except wife/mother).
Molly: What was the transition like between part time and full time writer?
Michaela: Honestly? I went from not writing at all to writing 50-60K a month. 0-60mph, in other words.
Molly: Do you have a word count per day you try to hit?
Michaela: I generally feel I’ve done pretty well if I’ve hit 2000 words in a day.
Molly: When you finish writing a book, how long before you begin writing the next one?
Michaela: I usually give myself about a week off. Any more than that and I start getting twitchy.
EVEN IN early September, Vermont meant that Saturday morning dawned crisp and cool, and Bran tugged on his favorite beanie and scarf before making the trek across campus to the Grind, the tiny coffee shop that was his main source of income.
He couldn’t help the smile that flickered across his face when he walked into the kitchen, breathing in the smells of bread, cinnamon, almonds, and toasted sugar. He could feel the tension draining from his shoulders as he mentally flipped through the list of things he needed to do before he opened the café.
Start the blueberry muffins first. They can bake while I put together the topping for the coffee cake. Sweet-talk the cappuccino maker into starting up and leave yet another note for Naomi about getting a new one. Put the croissants in the oven last; I really need to set aside a couple of days to perfect making those myself so I can actually recommend them with a clear conscience. Call Katie and find out where the hell she is and why I’m here alone again.
He spent the morning making cappuccinos, espressos, and Americanos for the students who straggled in, bleary-eyed and hungover from the night before. He knew a lot of them—it wasn’t a large college, after all—and he dispensed smiles and the occasional aspirin along with the blueberry muffins and croissants.
When the bell jingled midmorning, Bran was in the back. He was handling the store alone, since Katie had phoned in sick.
“Be right there!” he called. He tugged a tray of muffin batter out of the massive refrigerator and slid it into the industrial-size oven before wiping his hands on his apron and hurrying back into the storefront.
Only to slam on the brakes and stare at Malachi leaning against the counter, smiling at him.
“Um,” Bran said eloquently.
“Couldn’t have said it better myself,” Malachi agreed. “What’s good this morning?”
Bran dragged his brain into gear. “The, uh, coffee cake is decent. I made it myself. Or the blueberry muffins. I don’t recommend the croissants—we don’t make them in-house.”
“Coffee cake sounds good, Bran! Can I have a hot chocolate with whipped cream and sprinkles with that, please?”
“Sure,” Bran said, and he moved to obey, mind whirling.
Malachi leaned on the counter and watched him, and Bran still couldn’t figure out what to say.
“Did you go to any good parties last night?” Malachi asked, and Bran jumped.
“I, uh, no,” Bran said, cursing his fumbling tongue. “Had to study. I don’t… party much.” And there goes any chance of Malachi wanting to get to know me, he thought a little despairingly.
“I know what you mean,” Malachi said, and Bran turned to stare at him, nearly dropping the coffee cake. Malachi lifted an eyebrow. “Oh, I party plenty, don’t get me wrong. But this English class is kicking my ass, and I can’t seem to get my head wrapped around it.”
“Do you have a study group?”
“I did,” Malachi said, popping a toothpick in his mouth. “But we went our separate ways at the end of last year, and I haven’t found anyone else to work with yet.”
“You should talk to Dave,” Bran said, and then he wanted to kick himself. Why hadn’t he volunteered himself? He could study with a senior, couldn’t he?
“Dave’s a great guy,” Malachi agreed, “but what about you?”
Bran did drop the coffee cake that time, and stood there staring at the mess on the floor for way too long. Idiot. He went to his knees and began picking up shards of pottery.
“You okay down there?” Malachi asked.
“Fine,” Bran said, and then he gasped as he sliced his hand on a sharp edge, blood welling up and then dripping onto the mangled coffee cake on the floor.
Malachi rounded the counter and pushed Bran away from the wreckage, gripping his wrist. “You idiot, what were you thinking?” His voice was warm with concern, and Bran couldn’t think of anything but how gentle Malachi’s hand was on his skin.
Malachi reached up, grabbed a clean towel from the counter, and wrapped it around Bran’s hand with deft movements. Then he stood up. “Stay there,” he told him, and disappeared.
Bran obeyed, resting his head against the cabinet. Dimly, he heard Malachi’s voice and the jingle of the coffee shop door. Silence fell.
That was that, then. Bran sighed. He was a klutz, and he’d scared off the cutest boy he’d ever seen by being a fumbling idiot who didn’t know how to talk to people like a normal person.
He nearly jumped out of his skin when Malachi appeared above him again.
“Whoa, hey, easy there!” Malachi said, grabbing his shoulder.
“I… thought you left,” Bran said, then wanted to kick himself.
“Nah, I closed the shop. Kicked out the few people savoring their muffins and locked the doors behind ’em. We’ve got the place to ourselves. Now get up, c’mon, we need to clean that wound and bandage it properly.” He steadied Bran by the arm as he levered himself to his feet, holding the red-soaked towel aloft with a grimace.
“Not feeling faint from blood loss, are you?” Malachi asked, steering him toward the back.
Bran shook his head. He was light-headed but it wasn’t blood loss. It was the firm hand that held his arm, steadying him as he led Bran to the bathroom, and the concern in those bright brown eyes.
Malachi opened the bathroom door and tugged Bran inside. It was a tiny room, and Bran held his breath at his proximity to the other young man. Malachi turned on the sink and unwrapped the towel with careful fingers. Bran hissed as it pulled at the edges of the gash, and Malachi winced.
“Sorry, kiddo,” he murmured. He dropped the bloody towel on the floor and held Bran’s hand under the running water, tightening his grip when Bran involuntarily pulled back at the stinging pain. “Gotta clean it out,” he reminded him. “Where’s your first-aid kit?”
“Under the sink,” Bran managed through his teeth.
Malachi fumbled for it one-handed, his soft hair brushing Bran’s arm as he bent down, and Bran swallowed hard.
Malachi came up triumphantly with the kit clutched in his fist and set it on the edge of the sink. After turning off the faucet, he gave Bran a gentle push toward the closed toilet lid.
“Sit. I’m gonna put my astounding first-aid skills to work here, and I don’t need you passing out halfway through. I need constant positive feedback or I shrivel up and die, you know.”
Bran huffed a laugh and sat down. “Are you a trained medical professional?” he teased, and Malachi grinned at him.
“Nah, I just play one on TV.” He examined the edges of the wound, tsking to himself. “The bleeding’s almost stopped, and I don’t think it’ll need stitches, but I can take you to the emergency room if you want?”
Bran’s head swam at the thought of having that long with Malachi, of being in a car with him, having his attention, but he shook his head regretfully.
“I can’t leave the store,” he said. “There’s muffins in the oven and, I have a lot more to bake, and Naomi would kill me if I took off now, especially since Katie’s not here to cover.”
“Sense of duty, huh?” Malachi said as he pressed gauze into place and began to wrap the wound. “I like that in a man.”
Bran blinked. Was Malachi… flirting with him? He fumbled for something to say, something witty, something that would make Malachi laugh, but then the moment passed, and Malachi was standing back to admire his handiwork.
“I can’t guarantee you’ll play the piano again,” he said, “But you’ll be able to impress all the girls with your wicked scar, so that’s something, right?”
“I’m not… interested in girls,” Bran mumbled, ducking his head.
There was silence from above him for a moment, and then Malachi laughed quietly. “Neither is my brother. Me, I figure the more the merrier.”
“What, like threesomes?” Bran said, then nearly clapped his hand over his mouth.
Malachi snorted. “No, I mean I don’t care what someone has down their pants. Attraction, for me, isn’t based on gender. But Tris is like you: he’s gay. Although he’s also the most socially awkward dude I’ve ever met, so if he ever gets a boyfriend, I may keel over in shock.”
“I’m not gay either,” Bran blurted. He wanted to run, to hide and never look at the young man standing in front of him, but at the same time a weird feeling of relief was stealing over him. Malachi was the first person he’d told. Come what may, he’d admitted to someone what he was, and that was a step forward, no matter how Malachi reacted.
Malachi was utterly still above him, and Bran swallowed hard. This was it, the part where Malachi told him to have a nice life and took off back to his normal friends.
Malachi tilted Bran’s chin up, and Bran’s eyes widened as he met his gaze.
“Nothing to be ashamed of, kiddo. So you’re ace?”
Bran nodded jerkily.
Malachi smiled at him. “Are you aromantic too?”
“I, uh….” Bran floundered for words.
“Haven’t gotten that far in your research yet?” Malachi winked at him. “Look it up. We can talk about it when we get together to study tomorrow.”
Bran stared at him. When had they agreed to that?
“In the meantime, you have a coffee shop to run, so let’s get you back to it, shall we?” He flapped his hands at him until Bran took the hint and stood up, feeling a mile tall as he towered over the shorter man. Malachi just tilted his head back and grinned up at him. Then he shooed him out of the bathroom and back into the store, where he grabbed a chair from the dining area and dragged it behind the counter.
“Sit,” he said firmly, and he cocked an eyebrow when Bran hesitated. “You can’t serve food with an open wound, kiddo. So you’re going to direct me and work the register, and I’m gonna run this place for you.”
Bran just stared at him as Malachi grabbed the dustpan and began cleaning up the coffee cake mess on the floor.
Malachi whistled as he cleaned and then opened the front door, and Bran stayed quiet and watched him, head swimming.
Malachi hadn’t run. He hadn’t disappeared when Bran had told him what he was. Why not? Bran was different, not normal. Malachi couldn’t possibly be interested in Bran, so why was he still hanging around?
Malachi snapped his fingers, and Bran blinked, looking up.
“You’ve got a customer, kid, and the oven just dinged at me. Either it’s flirting with me, or the muffins inside are done. Could go either way. What do you want me to do?”
Bran gathered his thoughts. “Um, get the muffins out, put the tray on the cooling rack back there, and set the timer for five minutes. Then you’ll take them out of the tray, but they need to set up a bit before you do that or they’ll collapse.”
Malachi winked. “You got it.”
He disappeared, and Bran stood up to take the first customer’s order with a smile on his face.
Michaela Grey told stories to put herself to sleep since she was old enough to hold a conversation in her head. When she learned to write, she began putting those stories down on paper. She and her family reside in the Texas hill country with their cats, and she is perpetually on the hunt for peaceful writing time, which her four children make difficult to find.
When she’s not writing, she’s knitting while watching TV or avoiding responsibilities on Tumblr, where she shamelessly ogles pretty people and tries to keep her cat off the keyboard.
Where To Buy:
Dreamspinner Press: http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/product_info.php?products_id=6368
a Rafflecopter giveaway